| [Apr. 20th, 2009|11:04 pm] |
"I don't need therapy," Ryouma said. This close he could see the tic of a muscle under the mask at the corner of Kakashi's mouth, the way steel-grey and rain-grey and silver-grey mingled like the water-pattern of an heirloom sword in his eye. The curve of a callused palm cradled his cheek, long fingers tangling in his hair. Kakashi's skin was cooler now than when they'd woken. A hot drink in a snowstorm...
That's what Kakashi was offering, wasn't it?
Was it what Ryouma was looking for?
I want there to be a next time, he'd whispered, under the heartbeat pounding of water. And Kakashi had gone still and quiet, and asked if this was just about sex, or if there was something else. They hadn't really found an answer; he'd thought they didn't need one. They couldn't plan for a future they might not have.
But this was now. And the stroke of Kakashi's thumb was light over Ryouma's brow, the faint floral scent of the hotel shampoo undercut by the clean cold scent of his body. The offer lingered on his parted lips, an elegant bow-line beneath the mask. If Ryouma just tipped his head up, he could touch...
He sank down instead, relaxing the tense muscles of his shoulders, easing his sore back into the wrinkled blankets. Kakashi's finely carved face hardened to marble. Ryouma tried to smile at him.
"I don't want oblivion, either. Peace'd be nice, I guess." |
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